The fluff of stuff. And the power of a photograph.

A few months ago I was in my mom-in-law's house with her.  My eye caught sight of a vase I'd not seen before and I said, "Wow, that is gorgeous. I love it!".  To which she immediately and without hesitation emphatically said, "Take it. It's yours. I do not need all this stuff."  And she waved her hands around the room. 

So, I took it home.     

It looks really lovely on the glass shelf where I display it.  Of course I rarely see it, and no one else does either really.  

The hubby and I are on the very cusp of retirement, a new journey.  It's exciting to dream and plan for what we are going to do.  One of the first things we talk about is cleaning out closets, getting rid of all the excess.  In case we move to a smaller house.  And so our kids have less stuff to deal with later on.

So, hmmm.  Anyone want a lovely vase?  

Last weekend we drove over to Yoder, Kansas to an Amish furniture store.  I tell you the truth, when we walked in the door I was swept away in awe, and a little breathless.  All of the handmade tables and chairs, handmade quilts, handmade bedroom sets were just stunning to me. I was drooling and my credit card was burning a hole in my wallet.  The quality of everything in that store was just amazing.  And the price tags reflected the quality of workmanship.

I looked at all the incredibly beautiful dining room tables and had visions of large family gatherings with everyone sitting around the same table.  Eating together, sharing life together, loving each other around a meal.  

But we were there for one specific small item, spent around 30 bucks, and walked out the door to our car to go back home.  

As we drove away we talked about how beautiful everything was in that store and how nice it would be to buy a few furnishings.  But of course, in the next breath we were talking downsizing, shedding stuff, simplifying.  And the truth of the matter is, any of the amazing pieces of furniture, even with the handmade value and high price, is still just.....stuff.  That would eventually be one more thing for our kids to deal with.  Estate sale, etc.  

We recently helped some friends prepare their elderly father's home for an estate sale.  It's a lovely home where they spent 65+ years of married life together.  And every inch of that home was filled with treasured items they had collected over all those years. Many many many items.  I kid you not.  

Our friends were closing out a lifetime of stuff.  Their mom is in heaven, Dad is living in assisted living nearby.  After we finished moving all the stuff, the daughter said, "You have to see this, come look at this!"  I expected her to lead me to an elaborate, valuable, stunning treasure.  Her excitement was tangible over this one item.  

And she led me to a huge poster board photograph of her parents on their wedding day.   I've known her parents for such a long time,  and the picture brought tears to my eyes.  Their youth, their love, their excitement for the years ahead is all over the two faces in that picture.  Just a simple piece of poster board, a picture that tells the story of 65+ years of life together and the love that carried them through.   

Neither my parents nor my husband's parents had big weddings.  Just exchanged vows in small private ceremonies.  In fact, my folks flipped a coin to decide whether to get married on that particular day or not.   The dime rolled under a nearby piano.  And apparently once retrieved, the coin flip indicated "marriage".  Romantic, huh?  Mom wore a brown skirt and blazer, Dad probably had on overalls,  and they found a judge to marry them.  And she kept the dime forever in her box of keepsakes.   

Wedding photos?  Nothing for my folks.   There is a precious snapshot of my in-laws the day they got married.  Outdoors on Christmas Eve in front of her folks' house.  They both were bundled in warm coats and my mother-in-law was wearing a kitchen towel for a scarf because that's all they could find at the time to keep her ears warm.  She doesn't like that picture, but I think it's absolutely precious.  Gorgeous happy faces showing obvious excitement for their life together.  Just beautiful.  

No wedding pictures, but I want you to see the four of them.  Here they are, so very young. My folks on the left, DeWayne's on the right.  And a clock.  Time, precious time.  Fleeting time.

Harsh reality tells us that retirement is the final chapter.  And I've lived long enough, lost enough loved ones to know that all the stuff in the world doesn't take the place of breathing the same air in the same room with those you love.  Being able to touch them, hug them, hear them speak.  

Treasures?  I have a few little items from my folks, things Daddy made, his hat, a few things from Mom's kitchen.  Oh my goodness, none of it makes up for the pain of losing them, or the desire to be with them.  The only real treasure to me is the love that remains, the love that was passed on from these four parents, to their children, to their grandchildren.... Love remains. 

Stuff is fluff.  Love is the real treasure.  

The hubby and I  will undoubtedly toss a few things out over the next several months.  We might even have a garage sale ***honestly, no way that's happening***.  But we're going to hang on to the love that has carried us through almost 45 years of life together.  And I'm praying that God blesses us with many more years.  

Our children's inheritance?  When we're gone....our love remains.  In them.  To pass on to their children.  What a treasure! Priceless if you ask me.  

    

The worst everything.

Thanksgiving.  Time to make the list.  The "what I'm thankful for" list.  

You know the drill.  Most lists have the same items on them year after year no matter who is writing the list.  "My family.  My friends.  Food.  Shelter..."

Gratitude is a good habit to practice.  One time several years ago I sat down and quickly wrote 100 things I was thankful for.  All the wonderful good things in my life I could think of.  It was good medicine for my attitude and kept me happy for, oh, maybe 10-20 hours.  

Really, giving thanks is not all that difficult.  It's a breeze to give thanks about the wonderful.  About the good.  

There are two words in scripture that are mentioned in the same breath as being thankful.  Always.  And everything.  When you're talking about "always" and "wonderful good", it's still a breeze to be thankful.  I'm generally always thankful about the good stuff.  Aren't you?

But then there's the word "everything."  

Really?  Everything?  Even...the worst everything?  

We all have our own worst everything.  That one thing that can easily trip us up and leave us wrecked.  Leave us thinking thoughts that don't come close to anything that resembles gratitude.  Shatter our heart to pieces.  

Of all the everythings I have experienced in my life, my personal long term "worst everything" involved the disability of my oldest sister.  Her limited intellectual ability, her emotional/psychological issues.  The challenges it brought to our family dynamics are not easy to grasp unless you've been in our shoes.  No details here, but there were some exceedingly difficult times.  The word "retarded" rings in my ears and stings me even now. Changing the word to something prettier and more palatable doesn't change the reality.  

I can't lie, having a sibling with such a disability, having a "retarded" sister.... I didn't handle it well.  At all.  Anger, shame, guilt, bitterness, embarrassment.  Dangerously close to hate.  It was an everything that would never change.  

I'd like to say that one day when I was very young I suddenly overcame all my struggles dealing with my sister.  But again, I can't lie.  It took me many many....decades....to come to the realization that she is a gift from God, created perfectly and exactly as He intended.  He gently led my heart to a place where I can see her more from His perspective.  He opened my eyes to the good, the wonderful, in her.  And there is so much!!  

Here is the very best "good" about her:    No matter how frustrated I could get with her, no matter how mean I might sometimes speak to her, no matter how seldom I call her or visit her...  she loves me.   She will always be happy to hear my voice on the phone, she will always be ecstatic to see me in person, she will always be delighted to go anywhere I might take her.  She will always understand when I apologize for times when I'm unable to be there for her.  She will always end every conversation with "I love you."   She is so much more than her disability.  

She was most definitely not my worst everything.  My heart, my attitude toward her was my worst everything.  

The scripture 1 Thessalonians 5:18 says "In everything give thanks".  I can give thanks and gratitude to God in everything because He has been with me in my worst everything.  He was patient with me in times when I did not deserve patience.  He did not abandon me or give up on me.  It's very humbling to me to realize that He saw the anger, shame, guilt, bitterness in my ugly heart and looked beyond my sin with understanding, grace, and love.  

He looked in my heart and said, "Let me live in there, make room for Me.  I can fix this."  I couldn't.  He could.  I'm on my knees in deep, amazed gratitude.  How can it be?  

Can I encourage you this Thanksgiving season to look at your worst everything differently?  I am certain that if you look closely enough you'll find that God has been with you.  And He won't leave you.  The presence of God in your worst everything is most definitely cause to be thankful.  And your thankful praise will bring you new hope.  He will change your heart.  Let Him in.

In everything, He is with you.  And in everything.... give thanks.  

Bunny and Sharon

Oh that I would have learned to love her sooner.  Oh that I could have loved her like she loves me.

And...thank you God for not giving up on me.  

Would you?

If you had the option to live your current life here on earth forever,  would you choose to do so?       

We recently went to a play put on by a local high school.  Tuck Everlasting.  It was a new story to me.  Is it new to you?  If so, I'll tell you a little bit about it quickly and painlessly:

Jesse Tuck drank water from a magic spring that causes him to remain the age of 17.  Forever.  No death, no aging.  None of that nonsense. His parents and his brother also drank the water.  Jesse has been the age of seventeen for 102 years when Winnie, a young girl, stumbles across "17 year old" Jesse and they become friends. Eventually Winnie learns about the magic water and has to make a choice.  Drink the magic water, become immortal.  Or not. 

It seems like an easy choice.  

You might surmise that the decision for Winnie is obvious.  Drink the water, little girl!!  Stay young forever!!  

Often I find myself in the company of my little grandson.   I'm 63.  He's one year old.  The math is simple, the facts are painfully clear.  I most likely will not be alive still to experience much of his young adulthood.  

Sometimes I hold him a little bit after he falls asleep.  I just look at his precious angelic sleeping face and start thinking about the above math problem.  

And I pray as I hold him close.   For him as he learns and grows, for his parents as they raise him, for his older brother as they grow up together.   I ponder what the years will bring to all my children and grandchildren.  I pray for them all.  And I'll be honest, sometimes a tear slides down my cheek.  

Would I drink the magic water if it were given to me?  Would you?  

In the stage play, the Tuck family urged Winnie to not drink the water. They grew to view immortality as a curse.  They had been stuck at the same age, never progressing to the next step in life.  Or death.  Jesse would forever be doing only what a 17 year old would do.   Watching those around him mature and live full lives.  And then having the pain of watching those around them die, one by one.   While his family lived on in a perpetual rerun of life happening to everyone but them.  Never dying.  But.... never really living either.

Winnie didn't drink the water.  

As Jesse would tell Winnie:  "Don't be afraid of death Winnie, be afraid of the un-lived life. "

The life we live is a series of hills and valleys.  Really sweet, wonderful times peppered by seriously tragic, sad times.  The good, the bad.  It's life.  It's beautiful.  It's bittersweet.  

At age 17, I questioned why life had to include watching my dad lose his battle with leukemia and die.  But it wasn't the end of my life.  There was plenty of good to come.  And, of course, plenty of bad.    At age 63, I look back and see that God used everything that happened to me, good and bad, to make me who I am.  It's okay.  It's very okay.  I am indeed living life.  

So there's no "magic water" that will keep us young forever.  But scripture tells us that Jesus offers us living water.  " But those who drink the water I give will never be thirsty again. It becomes a fresh, bubbling spring within them, giving them eternal life."  John 4:14

Jesus gives us living water!! "For God so loved the world that he gave his only son, that whoever believes in him will have life everlasting."  John 3:16

If you could choose between living life forever here in this imperfect world, no end in sight..... or living our truly brief life here with hope and strength for each day, and with the promise of eternity in heaven where there is no sorrow, no pain, no more death, no more troubles....??  Good news!  You CAN choose!!  I don't know about you, but to me that seems like a seriously easy decision to make.  My dad made that decision.  He's waiting for me.  Along with so many others there with him.  

And.... I'll be waiting too.  For my family and friends.  For the little guy in the above picture.  The hope of heaven with the circle unbroken makes this brief life so much better.  

Tuck LIFE Everlasting!

Reach out to Jesus.  Drink the water He gives!  

Would you?  

Subliminal learning. The beauty of failure.

For the first twelve years of my education I attended the same school system.  Tiny little town, tiny little school, tiny little class sizes.  There wasn't much mobility in family life back then, so for the most part the class members in Kindergarten went through all 12 years together and graduated high school together.  

Though I was never at the top of the list for good grades, I did okay.  My best subject was a class called Typing.  On modern typewriters of that day.  Non-electric until we hit the big time and got a new electric typewriter.  

And now, in the current times, there is no such class in high school called Typing.  I recently read a headline that said:  "Keyboarding, once taught in high school, is now part of the curriculum for elementary kids."  Not a separate class, just kind of built in to the curriculum.  For little kids.

Hmmm.  I excelled in a course that no longer even exists.  Little kids do it.  

I can sure enough tell you a class I did not excel in during those twelve years of education.  One clue what the name of the class was:  

Do you know what this is?  It's a seam ripper.  It was my continual companion in the class in which I did not excel.  I wore out my seam ripper  and had wounds to show for it.  The class?  Home Ec.  

The cooking part of the class was no problem.  Chubby girls can cook.  But the sewing part?  It was my nemesis.  Straight seams?  Not too bad.  Zippers?  Oh my word no way.  I lost count of the number of times I used the seam ripper to tear out a zipper gone wrong.  Kind of surprised I don't still have scars from stab wounds.  Those things are SHARP!!  

Sadly, if you look at my PERMANENT RECORD, you'll find not an A, B, C, D or F for that class.  You'll find INCOMPLETE.  Yes, boys and girls.  I couldn't even finish the class.  Because of seam rippers, zippers, stab wounds, high anxiety.  And probably elevated blood pressure.  The class was almost life threatening to me.  😱 😀😜

Several years ago at a class reunion for my hubby's class (same school), we did a tour of the high school.  It was fun looking around at all the changes.  Until we came to the old room that housed Home Ec.  I think it's called Life Skills now or something.  It was the same room and still looked fairly similar to the old Home Ec room.  After we'd been in there a few minutes I kind of sneaked out of the room. Couldn't take it one more minute.  If ever I were to have a full blown anxiety attack, it was about to happen right then and there.   Visions of seam rippers.  Hands shaking from memories of messed up zippers.  "Failure" screaming in my head.  

One might presume that I learned absolutely nothing about sewing from my INCOMPLETE class called Home Ec.  

About 15 years ago, some thirty years after graduating high school, I found myself needing curtains for a newly purchased modest little camping trailer.  There weren't any ready-made curtains the correct size to purchase for these windows. 

So.  I decided to sew some curtains.  Yes.  I bought a little basic sewing machine at Walmart.  El Cheapo.  

I took it out of the box and sat it on the table.  And plugged it in.  I took the spool of thread and stood there holding it, staring at the sewing machine.  Beads of sweat on my brow, minimal tremors in my hands, fear of failure in my mind.

And then, the most remarkable thing happened.  Without even referring to the instruction manual, I filled the bobber with thread and then promptly threaded the machine.  As if I'd been doing it for years.  I sat down, placed the material in the proper place, lowered the pressure foot, and commenced to sew.  Yes, it was a simple task to the average person, but to me I'd just won a victory over failure.  I didn't use a seam ripper.  Not once.   And the curtains worked well. 

If you tested me today on all the things I learned in Geometry, Algebra, History, Chemistry.... I probably wouldn't pass the test.  

And the thing I failed at?  Sewing?  Hmmm.  

Failure's not such a bad thing.  You can learn a lot from failure.  Maybe even, dare I say, you can learn more from failure than success? 

But oh, how it hurts to fail.  

For the record, I don't really own any clothes that have zippers in them anymore.  Except blue jeans.  Purchased at the local store for chubby girls.  Where I shop at right after I down a dozen cookies I just baked.   

Pools of antacid and looking ahead to the future. Subtitle: So Cal, the grand finale of work travel.

With the hubby's retirement date approaching with alarming swiftness, I opted to travel with him this week on what will be most likely his last travel trip to a luxurious location.  No offense to St Louis, where his current project is, but Huntington Beach California appears to be decidedly more appealing.  Because of one word:  ocean.  

Laguna Beach....ahhhhh

And I found a lot of bliss sitting on our shaded balcony in Huntington Beach, reading and watching the waves.  Ahhhhh

Every morning I looked from the balcony at the sunrise and saw this:

Yes, the sun is rising over mountains.  Beach on one side of us, mountains on the other.  If you know me at all, you know that I am in love with mountains.  Colorado.  Ahhhh.   The bliss of being out in the fresh mountain air surrounded by trees, clear streams, stunning vistas and very very few people.  

So, you guessed it, three days into this trip DeWayne asked where I'd like to explore next.  We'd seen the Mission at San Juan Capistrano (really really enjoyable), and driven Highway 1 from beach to beach a couple times.  Naturally, me being me, I said, "Let's go find that mountain range.  I want to see some pine trees and clear streams and feel the cool mountain air."

Google maps indicated the quickest route and it would include what looked to be a beautiful lake to start our trip down highway 74 from the lake, through the mountains and ending up in Dana Point on the coast.  Man, I was so excited.  

I anticipated leaving the bustle of the coastline and quickly reaching lightly traveled smaller highways.  A few miles in we indeed had left the heavily populated area behind us.  But the traffic.  Oh the traffic.  Six lanes of traffic in each direction.  Almost stopped in some locations.  And it was only 2 pm.  Hardly rush hour.  

At least we were climbing a bit altitude-wise.  Surely it was getting pretty cool.  Check the temp in this picture.  95 degrees.  And look at the mountains in the distance.  Brown.  Hmmm.  After driving several miles we exited onto the highway that would lead us to the beautiful lake and highway 74.  

Lake Elsinore is the name of the lake and we opted to drive on a lake shore drive before heading on the advertised "scenic drive" toward the coast through the mountains.  

HOW ON EARTH DO THEY GET INTO THAT BOAT

 Here it is, the lake shore in all its glory.  The water color was a shade of green I'd never seen before.  Not emerald green.  Not turquoise.   And take a look at the close up of the water lapping on the shore.  It looked thick, like mint green Mylanta sludge.  Never seen anything like it before in my long, long life.

Yes, we'd never seen anything like it....but after using our phones to google info on this lake we learned that we actually have seen anything like it: it is BLUE GREEN ALGAE!!  At danger levels.  This lake has been this way for quite a few years.  Lake people of Kansas, take note:  THIS is what dangerous blue green algae looks like.  oh My LANTA!!!!

There were a couple boats in the lake.... were they fishing??? Surely not.  **insert gasp of horror accompanied by shuddering and a bit of gagging**    We didn't see any people actually in contact with the water on what may have once been a nice beach.  **repeat shudder, gagging, and horror at that thought**

This lake really made us sad for the little town surrounding it and the folks living there.  From a distance, high up on scenic 74, it looked a little more lovely.  Although we had already seen it up close so this view to me looked like a sewer lagoon. I had seen the Mylanta.  I had not so quickly forgotten.  

We traveled further up on 74 and it was indeed a two lane mountain road.  At this point in our journey DeWayne mentioned that he had read online that it is the most dangerous two lane highway in all of southern California.  This comforted me very little.  It was two lanes of bumper to bumper traffic in places.  And my generally lead-foot hubby actually pulled over several times to let traffic pass us.  That was a landmark event in our marriage.  Normally folks in front of us pull over so that we can pass them.  I sat stunned in the passenger seat, wondering what is next for our marriage.  Will he... start asking for directions??? 

As we drove on closer to the coast, the terrain changed quite a bit.  No pine trees.  No clear streams, or really any streams/water at all.  But there was green vegetation, which to me is essential for mountains to be considered beautiful.  

I was not stunned with the beauty of this particular scenic drive.  But it was definitely interesting.  And swift.  And we both agreed when we arrived back on Highway 1 that it's a drive we don't need to take again.  

As I've occasionally joined the hubby traveling with his job over the past fourteen years, we've gone to Paris and Germany, New York City, Seattle, Toronto, SAVANNAH, Ga (oh how I miss Savannah).  All on the company dime, cost:  $0.00.  Soon, very very soon, that zero cost is going to be history.  We're going to camp.  In our 5th wheel.  Maybe just at a Kansas lake with a blue green algae warning.  It's okay.  It really is.  I'm very thankful for the wonderful traveling we've done for free but it came at a different sort of cost.  For me, loneliness, from spending many days and most nights alone in our home in Kansas, communicating by Skype for an hour or two in the evenings when possible.  Or having meaningful conversations with an old Boston Terrier who, though she worships the ground I walk on, never really has any meaningful words to give back to me.  

Twelve or so more weeks of this life.  And I pray it's the beginning of several years of time spent with the man of my dreams.  Like every day, every night.  Like together forever.  That whole better or worse, sickness or health, richer or poorer dealio.  Hmmmm.  I might perhaps need to activate the prayer chain at our church.  JUST KIDDING....  

Yes, just kidding.... for real... As we were walking along the beach on this trip an older man looked at us and said "You two look like you're in love."   Awww, isn't that sweet?  To clarify, his vision may not have been the best, and he had a small tote with possibly all of his earthly possessions in it.  He was sitting on a curb.  But you know what, I'll take his words.  I'm thinking he was right.  💕 

All we know.

Don't you love looking at a baby's face for the first time?  Looking into eyes that stare back at you like "What in the world is that thing? Put me back, please"   

Prior to this newborn moment, baby was a well thought-out design of God.  Being formed in His image as God picked out hair color, eye color, size and shape.... fearfully and wonderfully thought out and created with love as the main ingredient.  And those months in the warm womb were a blissful time of just baby and God.  And mommy, of course.  But I believe God knows baby long before Mommy does.  

For the first few days and weeks all we know as babies is that we are perfectly loved.  That's all we need to know.  Not one worry.  

And then we learn that with a little crying we can get our needs met even more quickly.  Add a smelly diaper to that and the quick response is intensified.  

"All we know" grows at an alarmingly exponential rate of speed.  

By the time we reach the late preteen years, we know everything.  Yes we do, and if you ask us anything we'll be sure to share our vast knowledge with you.  Because we've got it all figured out.   

We know it all.

And then we might possibly just continue that "know it all" on into adulthood where we work, play, parent, grandparent....busy busy busy busy.  Sometimes we just get carried away with how much we know and how we have everything under control.  "I Got This" type mentality.  

The exact duration of this know it all condition depends on how early in life we learn the truth.  😁

Every one of us at some point in our life are slapped in the face by the grim reality that we don't know as much as we thought we knew.  Not there yet?  Hmmm. 

I really believe that as time passes for all of us we repeatedly become painfully aware that our knowledge, our intellect, our wisdom, is oh so limited.  Hindsight slaps us with memories of really dumb decisions.  Hindsight also slaps us with memories of really painful life experiences. And sometimes our present situations stop us in our tracks.  And we are stunned and overwhelmed and feel weak and powerless.   And....not smart.  Not smart at all.  

That's when all we know.... knowing it all....is replaced.  By humility.  

It's the most important, the BEST thing that can happen to us.  Seriously!!

That's where God wants us.  He opposes the proud know-it-all, but gives grace to the humble. (James 4:6) He created us with a free will.  He will allow us the choice to think we know it all.  He will lovingly watch us and wait.  Because He knows that somewhere in our life we're going to reach the end of all we know. And fall at His feet.  On our face in humble need of a Savior. 

Even if it's the last thing we do.  

We start this life helpless and dependent.  Looking around in confusion through baby eyes that can't quite focus yet.    

We stumble through life going back and forth from wonderful life-is-good to times when we question why we're here.... what's the purpose here.... Help me, Lord.... despair.  And hopefully at some point we make the important decision to give our hearts to Jesus, turn from all we know.... to All He Knows.  We will find that all He knows is enough.  More than enough.  He is enough.  We are not.  

And when we come to the end of our life, it's full circle, back to just us and God.   That last breath leads us face to face with the One True God.  And we will have perfect vision.  A clear knowledge, a full understanding. 

Perfectly loved. 

The rest of the story....

Percival and Augusta**.    Long ago they lived across the street from my family in a small super-modest old home with peeling paint and many many many cats.  And one little dog.   There was a front porch.  There was a back porch.  There's no trace left of where Percival and Augusta spent their sad life.  But my mind will never lose the image of that home and the couple who lived there.

Percival and Augusta were old in my eyes from the first time we met.  They were probably in their late 50's/early 60's, which as we all know is VERY YOUNG!!!!  Their faces looked much older, though.  Etched by life.  Just the two of them there in that little house.

Augusta spent a lot of time in her large garden across the driveway from her house.   And there was an old barn/garage type building at the rear border of their property which the cats pretty much had reign over.  One could have called it a "birth center" for hundreds of kittens.  

On the rare occasion that mom needed someone to watch me while she and Dad were gone, Augusta was my babysitter.   But any day of any week you could find me crossing the street to visit.  She fried me bacon any time I wanted good crisp bacon.  Better than Mom's bacon.  She and Percival doted on me, and I'm sure my little girl presence brought rare laughter and happiness to their lives.  

Right next to their driveway stood a most unique tree.  From about 8 feet up it was normal in appearance.  However from the base of the tree up to that 8 foot range, the trunk of the tree had seemingly been carved out on one side.  I don't know how the tree survived, but Augusta loved trees and she wasn't about to allow it to be removed.  She placed bricks in the carved out base of the tree to prevent it from falling.  

Yes, a most unique tree indeed.  With a sad story.  

Percival had a strong affection for alcoholic beverages.  Very strong affection.  He wasn't able to not drink. Most evenings  he would drive their car home after being at the pool hall.  As he would turn into the drive often the car would end up hitting Augusta's prize tree and remain there until Percival sobered up the next day.  

From our home across the street we had front row seats to Percival and Augusta's life.   There were frequent scenes in their front yard and often a drunken male voice in a high decibel range could be heard.  

Percival often collapsed in their yard, passed out.  Our phone would ring and Dad would make the trip across the street to shake Percival back to reality and help tiny little Augusta get him back inside the house.  Augusta was tiny.  And Dad was a whopping 5' 5" at the most and maybe 160 pounds.  Maybe.  

Once Percival fell into a snowdrift and their little dog ran out to check on him.  While Percival was passed out in the snow, the little dog lifted his back leg and proceeded to do a sort of canine wake up call on him.  

From inside our house Dad drew the curtains closed and told me to not look across the street.  This happened often. 

Percival was Daddy's friend and fishing partner.  Dad wanted very badly to help Percival.  To "fix" Percival.  When I was around 7 years old Dad started including me in their fishing trips.  Dad would say to Percival, "Do you really want Bunny to see you drunk?  Do you want her to see you lying in your yard passed out, or hear the horrible things you say out there?"  And Dad then told him he wasn't welcome to go on our fishing outings unless he hadn't been drinking.  

Percival needed a friend and he treasured his time with Dad and me.  Our early morning trips to the river usually included sober Percival.  The evening trips to set the lines on the river?  Well, more often than not he was absent.  

My eyes saw Augusta's tears and sadness.  She just exuded grief and heartache.   My young girl heart felt bad for Augusta and angry with Percival for being a drunk.  I grew to really dislike him.  Why on earth was he such a mean man?  Why didn't he just stop drinking?  I avoided being around him.  I..... judged him.  

Years later, several years later when I was a young adult I learned something about Percival and Augusta that painted a different picture of them.  

They were childless when I knew them.  But they hadn't always been childless.  They once had a little girl and lost her at the age of 3.  Their only child.  Never any more children for them.   I don't know the circumstances surrounding her death but I know it was very unexpected.  It was a story with details that would never be shared with me.  And clearly it broke them to pieces.  Pieces that seemed to be beyond repair.  

I thought about the times spent with them when I was 3 years old.  The love they showered on me.   Undoubtedly what they really wanted was to hold their own little girl just one more time.  Shower her with love.  Hold her close.  

I have my own children now, and grandchildren.  It takes no effort for me now to understand how much pain they were in.  In fact, it takes more effort to not get teary thinking about their life that I witnessed as a little girl.  And if I could turn back the clock, I'd show them more grace, more love, more understanding.  

Oh what a difference the rest of the story makes.  

We're all called by Christ to have compassion and extend grace to those around us.  To see their actions that are ugly to us, even repulsive to us, and then actively look for the rest of the story.  

And then....love them.  Just love them.  

Seriously, the Bible is jam packed with instructions to be nice.  

Like....be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another just like God forgives you.  

Or...... don't judge unless you want to be judged yourself.  

Or just the basic....LOVE ONE ANOTHER!!

Or..... mercy.  Have mercy....  "because judgment without mercy will be shown to anyone who has not been merciful. Mercy triumphs over judgment." James 2:13

Mercy triumphs.  Who are we to withhold grace and mercy from those who have been graciously forgiven by the Creator of the universe?  Are we superior to God?  Help us.  

Jesus knows the rest of the story for every one of us.  He loved Percival.  He understood his pain.  He forgave him for his sins.  Just as he loves and forgives me.  And you.  Isn't that amazing?  

Of all the things about me that I need help with spiritually, being critical and harsh is at the top of the list.  Lord, please help me to love like you.  Give me your eyes for just one second..... give me your love for humanity.  Help me to look for the rest of the story.  

.


**names changed.  

Young. And Old. And Future.

Sixty three years ago on this day, my 15 year old sister loaded up my pregnant mom and my two other sisters in our old car and drove to the hospital 25 miles from home.  My sister's skills included driving a tractor and she could drive a car, too.    Dad was working, driving a road maintainer for the county. Probably far out in the country on a dirt road and there weren't cell phones in that day.  He was probably clueless that the whole hospital thing was happening.  I don't think I was quite due to be born yet. The first and last time I was early for anything.   

Dads in that day and age didn't really do the whole delivery room spectator sport event with full video coverage and Facebook live deal.  **sigh of relief**

Dad was 47, Mom was 40.  When they stood outside the nursery windows looking in at precious little me, they were asked by several random onlookers if they were visiting their newborn grandchild.  It was an innocent question, even a logical assumption.  But the answer was a clear and resounding "No, she's our baby girl."  

That being said, my childhood was blessed with a slower pace, a more relaxed parenting style, and a lifestyle that didn't really match the lives of most of my peers.  Didn't even match the lives of my older sisters.  

Mom was 57 when Dad passed away, and a few months later I graduated from high school and left the nest.  Mom was very calm by nature but I vividly recall her shaking her head and worrying about the horrible condition of the world, and how would her baby Bunny ever survive "out there".  It was 1973.  Around seven years after The Beatles invaded, with their long hair and wild music.  Scary stuff.  😉  Of course, she had more serious concerns than rock music and long haired boys.  Vietnam, Watergate, race riots, hippies and drugs and.....

She worried about how bad the world would become in the future.  (side note:  do you suppose she ever dreamed that the President of the United States would tweet? Or anyone else, for that matter? Only birds tweet, right?)

I poo-pooed her concerns.  For heaven's sake, I'd never given my parents even one minute of trouble.  They raised me right.  No worries.  

So now, at age 63, I can look back on all those years between leaving the nest at 18 and living currently in my own empty nest.  It's definitely a different world today than it was in 1973. 

And I find myself looking at the calendar and calculating how many more years (months? days?) I might be around and actively part of my grown children and grandkids' lives. It's a sobering thought.  

And yes, Mom..... I find myself thinking about how much the world will change after I'm gone.  How different my grandkids' lives could be.   

It's really tempting to get wrapped up in that doomsday, fearful type thinking about the future.  It's really easy to just look around at the world we currently live in and see nothing but ugly.  Just like Mom felt back in 1973.  

But I believe, I really do believe, that the world is no better or worse today than it was 63 years ago.  And no better or worse than it will be 63 years from now.  Different?  Yes.  Will there be unplanned, unexpected tragic life experiences?  Of course.  It's a given.  

When I'm tempted to exercise futile type thinking, I find hope only in one unchanging truth.  God will always be God. Too simple?  I don't think so.  

Recently I read a statement that really spoke to me in regard to fear of future events.  The questions: What is the key to patience when we experience long, difficult, excruciatingly painful years?  How do we keep from being strangled by fear and worry and defeat?  

The answer?  "Faith in future grace --- The sovereign grace of God to turn the unplanned place and the unplanned pace into the happiest ending imaginable." J. Piper.  

I can remember being that little 18 year old girl waving good bye to my Mom as she stood in the door of our home and watched me leave. Tears were shed, I'm certain.  I can remember how I thought my life would be as I drove away to school.  Plans, dreams, very few fears.  And no problems.  

Looking back, oh how different my life has been from the dreams of 18 year old me.  So many things I wouldn't ever have planned on happening.  Or wanted to happen.  And lots of beautiful wonderful surprise in between.  

I'm so thankful for the promise of God's sovereign future grace.  The strength to make it through broken plans and dreams.  The promise of even better plans than we dream.  The promise that God will always be God.  

Hebrews 13:5  "...I will never leave you nor forsake you...."

Though I choose to believe the simple truth of the everlasting sovereignty of God and his unending love for his people, I tend to forget.  And that's why I write stuff like this blog post.  That's why I write most of my blog posts.  To remind me.  One day I was fretting verbally about something and my youngest daughter said, "You need to go back and read your blog post titled What If?".  Yes.  I need accountability checks.  And I will until the day I fall into the arms of my Savior for all eternity.  On that day, my weak stumbling forgetful faith will become glorious amazing 20/20 sight.  For all eternity.  The happiest ending imaginable.